


You In My Hometown

by secretsidgenowriter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 'Tis the damn Season AU, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Coming Home Again, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28839915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsidgenowriter/pseuds/secretsidgenowriter
Summary: Geno rides in the cramped back seat with his bag beside him and his knees pressed tight against the seatback in front of him. It’s like being on the plane all over again.His mother is twisted around in her seat to look back at him, eyes still a little red from her tears but her face absolutely lit up as she talks about their plans for the week, all the things they’ll do and the food they’ll make. Geno’s father occasionally will chime in, but it’s mostly Natalia who is running the show and Geno’s head is spinning. Their weekly chats are never this intense and this is the most Russian he’s heard in ages.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 32
Kudos: 201





	You In My Hometown

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to icedbatik for looking over this for me. I'd be a mess without you.

Geno presses his phone to his ear and bounces on his toes, trying to get warm. The sweatshirt he’s wearing is doing next to nothing to fend off the cold and he’s worried he’s going to lose his fingers to frostbite.

“How are you lost?” he says into the phone through chattering teeth. “There is only one terminal.”

The sliding doors open behind him as another traveler steps out and he’s hit with a wave of hot air that he melts back into. Then, as quick as they opened, the doors slid shut and he’s in the cold again.

“Well, I’m sorry,” his mother snaps, “but we’re not familiar with the airport. Maybe if you came home more often …”

Geno throws his head back and groans, his breath condensing above him in a column of white mist. They’ve had this argument more times than Geno can count and, as always, he’s not in the mood for it.

“Mama —”

“Just tell me where you are again.”

“At the arrivals. Just look for the signs.” He looks up at the sign above his head. “It’s a big, yellow sign. You can’t miss it.”

Natalia must pull the phone away from her ear because her voice goes distant as she says something to Geno’s father.

“Your father wants to park.”

“Don’t do that,” Geno rushes out. “You’ll have to pay if you park. Just follow the road and you’ll find me.”

“We’ve been doing that, Zhenya. Are you sure you’re where you say you are?”

Geno looks back up at the sign. “Yes. Where are you? What do you see?” His mother hums. “Cars. Planes. Fences.”

Geno nods. At least they’re in the vicinity of the airport.

“Oh!” She says excitedly, “I see a departure sign!”

“That’s good,” Geno tells her. “Remember that; that’s where you’ll drop me off.”

“You quiet down about that,” his mother snaps. “You only just got here. Now I see signs for United, American, Southwest, JetBlue ...”

Geno sighs and rolls his eyes. He wishes he could have afforded to rent a car but the round-trip ticket nearly cleaned him out as it was.

“I don’t see anything that says arrivals,” she says and Geno steps out toward the curb and looks down the drive. His parents’ car — the same beat up Toyota they’ve had since Geno was ten — is at the end of it.

“I see you,” Geno says as he drops his bag and waves his arm. “You’re right there. How do you not see me?”

“I don’t know, Zhenya!” His mother says sounding flustered as the car speeds up and drives right past Geno.

Geno drops his arm and shuts his eyes and thinks about turning right around and catching a flight back to California.

It takes another ten minutes for his parents' car to come back around and Geno almost throws his body into its path to make sure it stops.

His mother hops out of the passenger seat and has her arms thrown around Geno’s middle before his father even has the car in park, and Geno drops his bag for the second time to hug her back.

“You’re not supposed to park here,” Geno says as his father gets out of the car and rounds the front of it to wrap his arms around Geno as well. “We’re going to get in trouble.” Geno eyes the police officer who’s been giving him the side eye since he stepped out of the airport speaking a foreign language.

“I don’t care,” Natalia sobs. Geno feels like a monster, the same way he does every time she goes a little misty eyed on a FaceTime call. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I’ve missed you so much.”

Geno hugs them both back then makes eye contact with the unimpressed cop and shuffles his parents closer to the car.

**

Geno rides in the cramped back seat with his bag beside him and his knees pressed tight against the seatback in front of him. It’s like being on the plane all over again.

His mother is twisted around in her seat to look back at him, eyes still a little red from her tears but her face absolutely lit up as she talks about their plans for the week, all the things they’ll do and the food they’ll make. Geno’s father occasionally will chime in, but it’s mostly Natalia who is running the show and Geno’s head is spinning. Their weekly chats are never this intense and this is the most Russian he’s heard in ages.

It feels nice, like being home, and he would much rather live in this moment than the tiny town to which they’re headed.

Natalia twists a little farther and reaches back to pat Geno’s cheek.

“You look tired, dear.”

Geno nods. The cross-country flight and the time difference have begun to take their toll and all he wants to do is curl up and fall asleep.

“We’re almost home,” Natalia says. “We made up your room for you so you can go right to sleep; how does that sound?”

Geno nods again and his mother smiles softly then turns around and turns up the heat. Geno slouches down in the seat as much as the cramped space will allow and watches as the buzz of the city gives way to quiet suburban streets.

It’s been five years since Geno’s been back — ten since he left for good — and the only thing that seems to have changed are a few more empty storefronts on Main Street and a new stoplight on the corner of Monroe.

“We’re home,” his mother sing-songs as his father pulls into the drive of a slate blue — not yellow — house.

For a moment, in his sleep-deprived state, he doesn’t think it’s the same house, but the number next to the front door matches and the window on the garage door that was broken by a stray puck when he was eleven is still shattered.

“You painted,” Geno says as he climbs out of the car.

“A few summers ago,” his father answers.

“I told you we were doing it,” Natalia says. “I had you look at colors. You said the grey was nice.”

Geno doesn’t remember that but it sounds like something he’d say.

“It does look nice,” he says as he ducks back into the car to grab his bag. “I was right.”

Natalia smiles and pats his arm. “Of course you were.”

The inside of the house smells like clove and cinnamon, just like it always has. The carpet in the living room and up the stairs has been replaced, but the same wallpaper still hangs on the walls in the kitchen. There’s a Christmas tree by the front window with wrapped presents stacked up beneath it and Geno wonders if his parents put up the tree every year for just the two of them or if they did it just because they knew he was finally coming to visit.

“Are you hungry?” his mother asks. “Or thirsty? I could make tea. I bought that kind you like. Or, you used to like it. If not, I can make something else.”

Geno leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“Just tired,” he says. “I think I need to sleep for a few hours.”

Natalia leads the way upstairs as if Geno could have forgotten where his childhood bedroom was. Take a left at the top, third door on the right.

It’s clear that his room is now used for storage — with spare furniture and cardboard boxes piled around — but the bed is clear and neatly made.

“New sheets,” his mother says as she points to the bed, “and a new comforter, too.”

Geno sways a bit on his feet and Natalia laughs and pats his chest.

“Sleep, sweet boy,” she says. “We’ll have lunch when you wake up.”

Geno hums and waits until she’s shut the door behind her before he falls face first into bed.

When Geno wakes, his body is hanging halfway off the bed and there’s a crick in his neck. He groans and uses one hand to rub at his neck while he fishes his phone out of his back pocket with the other.

It’s a little after one and his stomach aches with hunger, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten since the night before.

In the bathroom down the hall he washes his face with cold water to wake himself the rest of the way up and shakes his head fondly when he sees the same brand of shampoo and soap that his parents have always used lined up on the edge of the tub.

He expects to find his mother and father in the kitchen, cooking. Instead, Natalia is asleep on the couch and Vlad is snoring in his recliner. Geno stands on the bottom step and watches them for a moment. They’ve had a long day, too, in their own way. They probably got up earlier than normal, and driving around and around the airport certainly couldn’t have been easy on them.

Geno’s stomach growls noisily but, thankfully, his parents are heavy sleepers. He used to take advantage of that often when he was younger. It made it easy to sneak out.

He feels a sense of deja vu as he slips by them and grabs the car keys off the hook hanging near the side door, but this time he grabs a notepad and pen from the junk drawer and scribbles out a message.

_Took the car to get lunch. Will be back soon._

There’s a total hole-in-the-wall restaurant called Benny’s just off Main that makes the best sandwiches in the world. They’re packed full of meats and cheeses and pickled vegetables, and they make their own French fries that are extra crispy and extra salty. He’s been craving them for _years_ after failing to find anything even remotely close to them in L.A., so he’s absolutely dumbfounded when he pulls up outside the building and finds a coffee shop where his favorite dive used to be.

It looks nice, with a metal awning and twinkling lights framing the front window, which has clearly been cleaned since Benny moved out, because he can finally see through the glass.

It doesn’t look too crowded inside but there are a few people sitting at high-topped tables, working on their laptops or chatting while they sip their coffee or pick at their pastries.

Geno’s stomach rumbles at the sight. He’s starving and even though The Busy Bean isn’t his beloved Benny’s _,_ it’ll have to do.

He’s greeted immediately upon entry by the young barista behind the counter, who is currently working the espresso machine while also grabbing a cinnamon roll from the display case with a pair of tongs.

He nods back then gets in line, perusing the menu above the counter as the line slowly inches forward. The Busy Bean does make sandwiches, but they all sound so healthy. Veggies and hummus and micro greens. It’s like he’s back in L.A. again.

He hears someone get in line behind him and looks over his shoulder on instinct to see a blonde woman in a bright red beanie. She’s looking down at her phone so he can’t see her whole face, but there’s something about her that’s so familiar. He knows her from somewhere, but he doesn’t have time to place her before the line is moving and he has to place his order.

When he’s done, he steps to the side to wait. The blonde woman steps up to the counter and orders an eggnog latte with almond milk and an orange-cranberry scone. She swipes her card then slides it back into her wallet. She drops her wallet into her purse and finally looks up and locks eyes with Geno and everything suddenly clicks into place for him.

“Tay-Tay Crosby?”

She sighs. “No one has called me that in years,” she says before she smiles. “Hey, Geno. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Can’t believe,” Geno says. “Last time I see you, you were —.” He holds his hand down by his waist. “Now you —.” He brings his hand up so it’s near her head. “Now you so big.”

“Yeah,” she says. “That’s kinda what happens.”

“Sorry, I just …” he laughs and holds out his arms and she hesitates for a moment before she steps into them.

Geno remembers when Taylor Crosby was born. She was the first and only baby that Geno has ever held and she used to hate being called Tay-Tay by anyone other than him. When he would do it she’d get all quiet and shy, the tell-tale sign of a young crush on her big brother's best friend.

She was only eight when Geno left. That was the last time he saw her.

“How are you,” Geno asks when he lets her go.

“I’m good,” Taylor says. “Back from school on holiday break.”

“College,” Geno says as he throws a dramatic hand over his heart. “I’m so old.”

“Sid says the same thing,” she says and Geno has to take a deep breath at the sound of his name. She notices and her face softens. “You should get in touch with him. I know he’d love to see you.”

Geno nods. “Yes,” he says, “want to. Was going to last time I was here but your family wasn’t here.”

“That was the Christmas we went back to Canada,” Taylor says. “Shitty timing.”

“You swear now?”

“I’m an adult,” Taylor says with her chin raised in defiance. “It’s allowed.”

“Okay, okay,” Geno laughs before he goes serious and takes a half step closer to Taylor. He drops his voice to a whisper. “What happen to Benny?”

“Oh, well,” Taylor starts, matching Geno’s whisper. “He retired a few years ago, moved to Arizona to be with his grandkids and there was talks of putting a Starbucks here — I know,” she says when she sees Geno’s eyes widen. “But they had to be okayed by the town and, of course, they weren’t about to allow that to happen.” She takes a deep breath. “It was a whole thing. Anyways. They allowed this place to open up because it was a small business but now Meredeth — you know, over at the diner — is like, super pissed because this place has better coffee and atmosphere and is like, cleaner, you know?”

Geno laughs.

“It’s crazy,” Taylor continues, “and no one can prove it, but last year the whole place started to reek. Turns out someone put a dead fish in the air vent in the bathroom.”

“No,” Geno says and Taylor nods.

“Yup. Again — they can’t prove that it was Meredeth but, I mean, who else?”

“Big drama.”

“The biggest,” Taylor says right as Geno’s name is called and his order is ready. Taylor’s is called right after and she fits her latte into the empty space on the tray beside Geno’s tea. “Let me help you to your car,” she says. “I can see you absolutely eating pavement in the parking lot.”

Geno thanks her and the barista as he takes the sandwiches and Taylor’s scone and she takes the drinks. Someone holds the door for them on their way out and they walk together through the parking lot to Geno’s parents’ car.

“Sweet ride,” Taylor says, laughing when Geno rolls his eyes at her.

He unlocks the car and puts the sandwiches on the back seat before he takes the drink carrier from Taylor and sets it carefully on the passenger seat.

He fishes a pen from the glove compartment and writes his number on the bag with the scone in it.

“To give to Sid,” he says, “in case he doesn’t have it.”

“I’m sure he still has your number, Geno,” Taylor says softly.

“Just in case,” Geno says. “No big plans while I’m here so …’’

“How long are you here for?”

“Leave Christmas Day.”

“Christmas Day?” “Late Christmas Day,” Geno clarifies. “Return flights were cheaper then than they were for the next day.”

“I’ll let him know,” Taylor says. “I’m sure he’ll find some time. It was really good to see you again. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Geno promises and hands her the bag, his number standing out on the paper.

**

His parents are awake by the time he gets back.

His father is still reclined in the chair but his mother is in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher.

Geno puts down the tea and sandwiches and goes to help her.

“We didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she says as she hands him a stack of plates to put away. “But I’ll make it up to you. We’ll have a huge dinner tonight, all your favorites. You’re too skinny.” She pokes at his ribs then looks at the sandwiches. “You know Benny retired?”

“Yes. He moved to Arizona. I ran into Taylor Crosby,” he explains.

“Lovely girl,” his father yells from the living room and Natalia nods.

“She told me he retired, how mad Merideth is about the new coffee shop.” Geno opens the utensil drawer and drops in a handful of forks. “I gave her my number to give to Sid. We’re going to try to get together. Catch up.”

His mother nods slowly. “I think that’s a good idea. He’s grown into a wonderful young man. I think I’ll make medovik for dessert tonight. How does that sound?”

“Fine. Good,” Geno says and takes another stack of plates.

**

His mother wasn’t kidding when she said she’d make all his favorites. He eats and eats and then eats some more, suddenly starving for good, homemade food.

His mother is delighted and keeps serving him until Geno finally has to push the plate away.

“Think I’m going to be sick,” he says as he rubs his stomach.

His mother looks delighted.

After dinner he offers to help clean up but he’s quickly dismissed from the kitchen.

“You’ve had a long day,” his mother tells him. “Your father and I can manage.”

Geno knows he should probably put up a fight but he’s tired and stuffed with rich food and all he wants to do is collapse on the couch, so that’s what he does.

He stretches out and folds one of the throw pillows beneath his head and watches his parents move around the kitchen, bumping into each other but never getting in the way of each other. His father crowds against her and his mother laughs as she uses her elbow to make space. His father kisses her cheek and she swats at him with a dish towel.

It’s sweet in a way that makes Geno ache and he finally has to look away.

They watch _Jeopardy_ together, Geno with his feet in his mother’s lap, laughing quietly as his father gets four correct answers in a row and declares that he could certainly beat all the contestants.

Geno hauls himself upstairs shortly after. He takes a shower and changes into sweats and crawls beneath the covers.

He checks his phone and finds nothing. No missed calls or texts from Sid. It’s disappointing and worrying. Maybe Taylor was wrong. Maybe Sid doesn’t want to see him. Maybe he took one look at the number on the bag and laughed. Geno left him and now Sid’s leaving him hanging.

They had been friends since they were five, when they bonded immediately over being both the new kids in schools and both being immigrants — Sid from Canada and Geno from Russia.

They quickly became inseparable, growing closer and closer as they grew up. Sid was one of Geno’s only friends who supported him fully when he decided to leave the hockey team and join the drama club. When rehearsals ran long, Sid would wait for him in the back of the auditorium — sweaty from practice with his homework spread out across his lap — so they could walk home together.

When Geno got his first speaking role freshman year, Sid got the whole team together and sat them in the front row and threw a small bouquet of flowers on stage afterwards.

Of course Geno fell in love with him and of course he left without saying the words and never looked back.

Geno had promised to keep in contact — Sid was his best friend, how could he not? — but it never happened.

Weeks turned to months turned to years and Geno never reached out. Sid must have moved on. He must still be moving on and doesn’t want to fall back into their friendship.

Geno puts his phone face down on the small bedside table and stares up at the ceiling until he falls into a fitful sleep.

There’s no text when he wakes up in the morning and his phone stays silent until well into the afternoon. It finally pings while his mother is gossiping to him about the Hendersons’ from two streets over getting a divorce.

“She didn’t sign a prenup,” his mother says, “and he’s a surgeon, so you can just imagine.”

Geno nods as he pulls out his phone and reads the text.

_Hey, it’s Sid. Taylor said she ran into you and you told her you wanted to catch up._

_Yes,_ Geno texts back. _When and where?_

 _Monty’s,_ Sid texts, _now that we can legally drink. Around 7 tonight?_

Natalia clears her throat and Geno looks up from his phone. Apparently she wasn’t done with her story.

“It’s Sid,” Geno tells her. “He wants to get dinner tonight. Is that okay?”

“You’re a grown man, Zhenya,” she says. “You don’t need to ask for permission. If you want to see your friends, that’s fine.”

“Can I borrow the car?”

“Only if you promise not to drink and drive.”

“I would never, Mama. Plus, it’s Monty’s. They water down all their drinks.”

His mother looks up sharply and Geno shrugs.

“Not that I would know,” he says innocently. “Now tell me more about Mrs. Henderson. Is she getting the house?”

His mother gives him a long look before she continues the story.

(Mr. Henderson is keeping the house, but Mrs. Henderson gets the vacation home.)

**

Geno packed light for this trip, mostly because he doesn’t have much to pack. It also meant that he didn’t have to check a bag and he didn’t have to worry about it getting lost. But now, staring at the meager offerings inside the duffel, he wishes he had brought some of his more impressive articles of clothing. The jeans that he wears to auditions or the henley he puts on if he happens to have a date.

Not that dinner with Sid is a date. Not that he thinks Sid will judge him for wearing wrinkled, well worn clothes. They were best friends, once. They’ve seen each other at their very worst, like that time Geno got food poisoning and spent the weekend bent over the toilet. If Sid was still friends with him after that then a ripped pair of jeans certainly won’t scare him off.

He pulls on the jeans and the nicest sweater he brought. He spends at least ten minutes in the bathroom mirror working on his hair before he decides it’s as good as it’s going to get and heads downstairs.

The plan is to run, to grab the car keys and yell a goodbye over his shoulder on his way out the door. He doesn’t even clear the bottom step before his mother is calling him into the living room.

Geno heaves a sigh and backtracks until he’s standing in front of his parents. His mother gives him a once over and raises her brows.

“That’s what you’re wearing to dinner?”

“It’s just Monty’s,” Geno says. “It’s just Sid.”

His father huffs a laugh and his mother rolls her eyes.

“Okay, Zhenya,” she tells him. “If you say so. Have a nice time. Drive safe.”

**

Geno pulls into Monty’s parking lot five minutes early and spends the extra time trying to calm himself down.

 _It’s only Sid,_ he tells himself, even though he knows it’s a lie. Sid’s never been _only_ anything. How is he supposed to feel just before he’s about to see the only man he’s ever loved after ten years of complete silence?

He finally gets out of the car a few minutes after seven and, from halfway across the lot, he can see a man sitting on one of the benches by the front door.

He’s in dark jeans and a black coat and one of his knees is bouncing up and down. The guy picks his head up at the sound of Geno’s feet moving against the gravel and the light falls across his face. Geno stops short.

It’s Sid, he’s sure of it, but it is not the boy Geno left behind. This man has broad shoulders and a sharp jawline. He smiles when he sees Geno and his teeth are perfectly straight and white.

Geno gets his feet moving again and jogs up the front steps. He stops in front of Sid and Sid gets to his feet.

“Hey, Geno,” Sid says. His hands slide into his coat pockets before he pulls them out again and lets them swing awkwardly by his sides. “How’s it going?”

“Sid,” Geno says in disbelief. “You … you are … you look.”

Sid ducks his head and puts his hands back into his pockets. “You wanna go in?” he asks and doesn’t wait for a response before he turns toward the door.

Geno doesn’t think, he just acts, reaching out and pulling Sid into a tight hug.

“Sid,” Geno says against the top of Sid’s head. “It’s so good to see you.”

It takes a moment before Sid reacts but eventually he wraps his arms around Geno and pats his back.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

Somehow, Sid still looks good in the dim light of the bar and Geno finds that he can’t take his eyes off of him as Sid orders drinks and a pizza — the only semi-edible thing to come from the kitchen — from the waitress.

“You’re staring,” Sid says when she leaves. Geno laughs.

“Sorry,” he says, “is just … Sid. You look … you’re …”

“What?” Sid asks, looking unsure.

“You’re hot, Sid. Really, really, hot. I mean, you know I always think you look good but it was like … cute, you know? Very sweet, but now is like —.”

“That would probably be the surgery.”

Geno’s mouth snaps shut. “Surgery?”

“I was playing shinny with some friends in college. Took a puck right to the face.” He points to his jaw. “They had to reconstruct almost everything. A lot of metal in here and these —.” He points to his mouth and runs his tongue over his teeth. “Most of these guys are fake.”

“In Los Angeles, people do that kind of surgery for fun.”

Sid laughs. “Trust me, it wasn’t fun, especially the liquid diet.”

“Do that for fun, too,” Geno tells him. “Am sorry that happened to you,” he says seriously. “But you do look good.”

“You do. too,” Sid says. “Any surgeries?” he jokes.

Geno shakes his head as the waitress comes back with their beers. “No,” he says as he reaches for his bottle. “Not yet, but getting older.”

“Don’t do anything,” Sid says quickly. “Getting older suits you.”

“You think I look hot, too,” Geno teases, but Sid doesn’t back down.

Instead he leans back in the booth and gives Geno a slow once over as his fingers curl around the neck of the bottle.

“Yeah, G,” Sid says, low and slow, and Geno’s mouth goes dry as his pulse quickens beneath his skin. “You look hot.”

Sid breaks the spell a second later when he leans forward and laughs, his mouth pulling into a crooked smile. Geno’s glad the surgeons found a way to keep that small imperfection.

“What have you been up to?” Sid asks. “What’s it like out there? The farthest west I’ve made is Colorado. Some friends and I went skiing.”

“Same friends that …” Geno trails off and taps his jaw. Sid nods.

“They kept me busy,” he says and Geno nods. He doesn’t ask how busy or what kind of busy. He doesn’t want to know.

“It’s warm,” he says instead. “No one can drive when it rains. Earthquakes sometimes.”

“Are they terrifying?”

“First one was,” Geno tells him. “But now is like … ground shakes when I get coffee —” He shrugs. “No big deal.”

“How’s work?” Sid asks. “Your mom threw a viewing party when you were in that episode of _Grey’s Anatomy.”_

Geno blushes. He only had two lines. “It’s … hard,” he admits. He’s hardly the star that he set out to be and it’s certainly true, he isn’t getting any younger in a town where youth is everything …

“Most of the roles I get are spies or computer hackers,” Geno tells him. “My agent says there’s not much else unless I lose accent completely.”

“Spies are cool, though,” Sid points out. Geno shrugs and nudges his foot against Sid’s beneath the table.

“Mostly work is being a waiter or Uber driver. Mama keeps asking me if I know all these famous people and when I’m going to work with them. Can’t think of how to tell her I don’t work with them, I work for them. I bring them food. I bring them home from a night when they have been drinking. I know how they drink coffee but I don’t know them.”

He takes a breath. He didn’t mean to say all that but he can’t take it back now. All he can do is change the subject.

“Tell me about you. How are your parents?”

Sid gives him a long look before he begins to speak. His parents are doing well, his father is retired and apparently driving his mother crazy because he thinks he can fix everything around the house. He had to let himself be minorly electrocuted twice before he’d let her call an electrician to fix the front porch light.

“They’d like to see you before you leave,” Sid says. “You should stop by.”

Sid keeps talking about himself and Geno keeps listening as their food arrives and their waitress drops off two more bottles of beer.

Sid went to college and then to grad school before finding a teaching job at the high school.

“History,” Geno guesses and Sid shakes his head.

“Am I that predictable?” Sid asks. Geno smiles.

“Not predictable,” Geno tells him. “Familiar.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence after that as they eat and drink. Geno thinks it would be easy to let the rest of the night fizzle out like that. They met, they caught up, and they’d go their separate ways again.

But there’s a question that’s been nagging at him and he can’t leave here with it unanswered.

“Did I hurt you?” Geno finally asks. “When I left?”

It’s been his biggest and deepest fear ever since he packed his piece-of-shit car and pointed it west, leaving the town — and Sid — in the rear view.

Sid looks at him over the slice of pepperoni pizza he’s holding, pausing with it halfway to his mouth.

It’s greasy and undercooked — far too doughy and salty — but there’s a certain novelty to it, Geno supposes. It’s not trying to be anything other than cheap bar food.

Sid puts the pizza down and wipes his greasy hands on a napkin that’s so thin and cheap it almost melts at the touch.

He shakes his head.

“No. I mean, you always made it clear you weren’t sticking around and I always knew I was so … I was expecting it.”

“Can still hurt,” Geno says and Sid nods.

“I guess …” He stops and takes a breath. “You were my best friend,” he says. “I guess I wish it didn’t feel like I was forgotten.”

“You weren’t,” Geno says quickly, reaching across the table with his own greasy hands to lay them over Sid’s. “I always think of you.”

It’s true. In the middle of loud parties and boring meetings, he thinks of Sid. Quiet and steady and sweet. His best friend. His first love.

“I think of you, too,” Sid admits before he smiles and leans forward on his elbows, eyes bright with mirth. “Do you remember that time we broke through the ice out on the pond behind Mrs. Romano’s house?”

Geno throws his head back and laughs. “We were screaming and crying … didn’t realize it was only like, two feet of water.”

“We could stand up,” Sid laughs back. “It barely reached our knees.”

They spend the next hour sifting through their memories, laughing at their past selves.

The pizza has gone cold, its oils congealing. Sid’s beer is nearly empty and he’s tipping the bottle back and forth through the ring of condensation.

“Do you remember that time my parents went to that wedding in Arizona?” he asks quietly. “They took Taylor but I stayed behind to look after Sam so we wouldn’t have to put her in a kennel?”

Geno’s hand tightens around his own beer bottle. He swallows and nods because. yes, he definitely remembers.

“Was the first time we —”

“Yeah,” Sid says with a small smile. His cheeks are pink, just like they were that night. “Yeah.”

Geno remembers trembling hands and soft skin. Sweat and sighs and moans and Sid’s eyes shining in the darkness.

Geno remembers thinking _I love you_ as they caught their breath while lying together in Sid’s twin-size bed. He remembers biting back the words and pushing them down. He remembers leaving for good two months later, taking the words with him.

“Was worth remembering,” Geno tells him and Sid huffs a laugh.

“What about worth repeating?” Sid asks and Geno’s breath catches in his throat. “If you want.”

“You sure?” Geno asks and Sid shrugs.

“Why not? I mean, you said you wanted to catch up, and we’ve already gone over everything we used to do, except for one thing.” He picks up his bottle and tips it back to finish it off. When he pulls it away he licks his lips and Geno lifts his hand, trying to flag down the waitress without taking his eyes off Sid.

Sid grins and puts down the bottle. “I’ll meet you outside. You can follow me to mine.”

Sid’s drives slowly, carefully, and Geno wants to lay on the horn and tell him to hurry up. It’s not as if he could get lost in this one-stoplight town.

Finally, Sid turns into a driveway that’s only a few streets away from where they went to elementary school.

Sid’s house is cute. Quaint. Wood siding and a small front porch. A bright red door with a Christmas wreath hanging on it. Geno didn’t even know they made houses this nice in town.

“Is nicer than mine,” Geno calls to Sid when he gets out of the car. He doesn't bother locking it. There hasn’t been so much as a smashed mailbox in this town in ages.

“You’re kidding,” Sid says. “Your mom told me you have a place on the beach.”

Geno huffs a laugh and starts up the drive to Sid. “Something like that.”

It’s true that his apartment complex had once been beachfront property, but that was before they built the multi-million-dollar condos that now block the view. Now, to see the water, Geno has to stand with one foot on the toilet lid, one on the tub, and stick his head far out the bathroom window.

Not that he would ever admit that to his mother. Or to Sid.

He follows Sid up the red brick path to the front door and waits patiently as Sid unlocks it.

He thinks Sid looks beautiful like this, in the watery glow of the porch light. Geno’s so busy staring that he doesn’t notice Sid has the door unlocked and is holding it open for him until Sid clears his throat.

Sid’s left the light on in the kitchen and it spills out into the front hall and living room, where Geno can see an unlit Christmas tree set up in the corner.

He steps toward it while Sid locks the door behind him and hangs up his coat and keys.

It’s a nice tree, but it’s sparsely decorated, with generic bulbs and baubles. He pokes at one then glances over his shoulder at Sid.

“Kinda sad,” he says as Sid steps up behind him. He holds Geno by the hips and leans up to kiss the back of his neck. “Needs more ornaments.”

Sid hums and Geno shivers as Sid’s teeth scrape against his skin.

“You want to waste time making fun of my tree or do you want me to show you the bedroom?” Sid asks. Geno turns and ducks down to press his lips to Sid. The kiss quickly deepens and Geno’s panting when he pulls back.

“Bedroom,” Geno says and Sid nods.

“Upstairs.”

When they were seventeen, Sid slept over when a study session ran long and it was too cold and too late and too dark for him to walk home.

He slept on the floor in Geno’s room on an air mattress and in a sleeping bag that the Malkin family used to go camping, once.

They stayed up late, whispering about the girls they were supposed to have crushes on even though neither of their hearts were really in it.

Sid had gone quiet and Geno thought he had fallen asleep until he heard the sleeping bag rustle and the bed dip beneath Sid’s weight.

Geno had tensed and pushed himself up against the headboard as Sid climbed over him, taking up all the available room on Geno’s twin bed.

“What are you doing?” Geno had asked. In a fit of bravery that Geno had never seen from him before, Sid had answered, “What does it look like?” before slotting his lips over Geno’s in the dark.

It had been the hottest moment of Geno’s life until about seven minutes later, when he came in his pajama pants with Sid’s hips pressed firmly against his own.

Until twenty seconds after that, when Sid followed, his lips falling slack with a groan against Geno’s throat.

Until two weeks later, when he finally got his hand down the front of Sid’s jeans.

Until a month after that, in Sid’s empty house, with Sid spread out beneath him and his fingers curling in the sheets.

Until twenty minutes ago, with an older and wiser and much more experienced Sid kneeling in front of him and telling him it was okay if Geno pulled at his hair a little bit, that he liked it.

Until right now, when Sid walks into the room, completely and confidently naked, holding two bottles of water and a box of granola bars.

“Turns out,” Sid says as he climbs up onto the bed next to Geno, “I haven’t been grocery shopping in a while. This is all I have.”

“Not that hungry,” Geno says as he reaches for a water bottle instead. What he is is thirsty and tired and warm. So warm. Sid keeps his bedroom and his house warm and, if that’s what keeps him from putting on clothes, Geno’s not going to complain.

He had been worried, briefly, that he wouldn’t know what to do with this version of Sid — the one with a house and a job and life — that they wouldn’t fit together the same way. That it wouldn’t be as good as he remembered it.

That coming home again had been a mistake in more ways than one.

He uncaps the water and takes a long drink as Sid unwraps a granola bag and takes a huge bite.

It ended up being better than he remembered. He should have come home a long time ago.

“What?” Sid asks, his mouth full. Some things don’t change.

Geno shakes his head and puts the cap back on the bottle. “You seeing anyone?”

Sid frowns around his next bite. “You think I would invite you back here if I was?”

Geno shrugs. The Sid he knew would never but, despite tasting nearly every inch of his body not too long ago, Geno doesn’t really know this version of him. He knows his life, where he goes to work every day and where he got his diploma but, aside from that ...

“Are you seeing anyone?” Sid asks. He tenses at the ensuing silence.

“Is not like that,” Geno assures him. “Is not serious. Not even together, really.”

Sid relaxes, slowly. “How does that work?”

It doesn't, honestly. Nick cheats and Geno accepts it and they don’t talk about it because neither of them really cares enough about it.

Geno gestures between them. “He is probably in same place right now with someone else.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

Geno shakes his head. “Whoever he is with isn’t as good as you,” he says. Sid laughs. “So I win.”

“Everything is still a competition with you, huh?”

Geno grins.

“Are you staying tonight?” Sid asks. “Can you stay?”

“Am grown, don’t have curfew anymore.”

“Do you think your mom will worry about where you are?”

“Told her I was getting dinner with you. Will probably figure it out.”

Sid looks away and takes a much smaller bite from the bar. When he swallows he says, “Do you think they knew about us? Back then.”

“I think, yes,” Geno says, because how much can a couple of dumb teenagers really keep from their parents?

“Mine never said anything,” Sid tells him. “But they looked at me differently right after you left. Like they expected me to be sad.”

“But you weren’t?” “I was okay,” Sid says, not really answering the question. He yawns and stretches his arms over his head. Geno is too distracted by the pull of the muscles in his shoulders to ask a follow-up. “I take it you’re staying?” Sid asks. Geno tosses his water bottle out of the way and reaches for him.

**

There’s sweat pooling at the small of his back and his hair is sticking to the back of his neck.

He groans and smacks his lips and rolls over onto cooler sheets with a satisfied sigh.

It’s then he remembers where he is and who is missing from his side.

Sid’s left him alone and, given the temperature of the sheets, it’s been a while now.

It’s unacceptable, he thinks, and he plans on giving Sid a hard time about it when and if he can drag himself out of Sid’s bed.

Last night, with Sid all around him and taking up every bit of his attention, he hadn’t noticed how truly comfortable the mattress was. It hugs his body in a way that his cheap mattress back home cannot.

He stretches his arms above his head and arches his back, feeling his spine pop and the muscles pull.

He could fall back to sleep like this, warm and sated, but the smell of bacon wafts up to the second floor before he can be pulled back under, instead pulling him up and out of bed.

He sorts through his discarded clothes on the floor, pulls on his boxers and his sweater. He leaves his jeans but retrieves his phone from the back pocket. It’s earlier than he thought it was and there aren’t any missed calls or messages from his mother. A good sign.

He finds Sid in the kitchen, half dressed just like Geno is, standing in front of the stove while crisp bacon drains on a paper towel on the counter.

“You cook now,” Geno says as he steps up behind him and presses a kiss to the back of Sid’s neck.

“I have to feed myself,” Sid says. Geno hums. He gets most of his meals at work. Leftovers from when the cook makes too much or something’s about to go stale.

“You have nice house,” Geno says, “great body.” He wraps his arms around Sid’s waist. “And you cook. How you still single?”

“Turns out the pickings are kinda slim in this town.”

“And still you stay.”

“It’s where my job is,” Sid says. “What choice do I have?”

“Job,” Geno mumbles against Sid’s skin. “What grade you teach, again?”

“Ninth,” Sid says with a laugh.

“Right, right.” Geno steps around to Sid’s side but keeps a hand on his hip. “How you decide on that? Teaching?”

“Well,” Sid says with a sigh as he pushes eggs around a pan with a spatula. “You know how all our teachers were like, nine hundred years old?”

Geno laughs and nods.

“I figured they’d be retiring and the school would be looking for their replacements so it would be easy to get a job. So … that’s what I decided to do.”

“It all work out for you.”

Sid shrugs. “I guess so.”

“And you never think about leaving?” Geno asks. There’s so much out there. So much to see and do. He’s sure Sid would flourish in all the ways that Geno is struggling.

Sid frowns, just a bit, and Geno almost reaches out to physically push the smile back onto his face.

“No,” Sid says with a shake of his head. “I never wanted to. This is my home. Where else would I want to be?”

Geno leans in and kisses him and keeps kissing him until Sid drops the spatula and it clatters to the floor. He pulls Sid closer to him then pushes him back against the counter until Sid’s fingers are tangled in Geno’s hair and he’s panting into Geno’s mouth.

Geno nips at Sid’s bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth before he lets go and sinks to his knees.

“Wait,” Sid whispers breathlessly and Geno freezes with his fingers hooked into the elastic of Sid’s boxer briefs.

Sid twists and turns off the stove then removes the pan from the burner, just in case. Then he slides his fingers through Geno’s hairs and holds him, far too gently.

He looks down at Geno with hooded eyes and red lips and nods.

“Okay,” he says, “okay.”

**

“I think you killed me.”

“Is payback for leaving me in bed all alone.”

Sid huffs and shifts so his head is pillowed on Geno’s bicep instead of his chest. They’re both spread out on the kitchen floor. Sid’s knees had buckled as he came and he used his last bit of strength to push Geno back onto the ground so he could return the favor. Sid’s shirt is rucked up and twisted from Geno yanking on it in warning (one that Sid ignored) and Geno’s cock is still hanging out of his underwear, soft but twitching through the aftershocks.

It’s messy and undignified but he’s in no rush to fix any of it.

“I wasn’t gone for long,” Sid says, “and you found me easily enough.”

“Could have done this in bed,” Geno argues playfully, “better for knees.”

“Getting old,” Sid teases and Geno nods.

“For sure.”

Sid laughs and pushes himself up. Geno makes a grab for him, trying to pull him back down to the floor, but Sid slips free and gets to his feet.

“Breakfast,” Sid says and Geno grunts.

“Is cold.” “I can heat it up.”

Geno groans and makes no move to get up. Instead he watches from his spot on the floor as Sid returns the pan to the burner so he can reheat the eggs and turns on the oven so he can re-crisp the bacon.

“Are you going to spend all day down there?” Sid asks as he goes through cabinets and drawers, pulling out plates and silverware and coffee mugs. “I don’t have any tea. I’m sorry.”

Geno waves a hand at him but he’s touched that Sid remembered. It was the cool thing in high school to roll into the building with a thermos of coffee, but Geno’s always held tea, piping hot and weighed down with honey or jam.

“Maybe,” Geno says, answering Sid’s question. “Or I could let you talk me into going back upstairs.”

Sid looks down at him as he sets the plates on the table. “You’re planning on spending the whole day here?”

Geno shrugs. “What else is there to do?”

“Spend time with your parents?”

Geno pulls a face. “Worst part of coming back,” he says and immediately feels guilty.

Sid looks at him sharply and calls him out. “You don’t mean that.”

He doesn’t. He loves his parents and he knows they love him back and they’ve been nothing but supportive of his dreams … but that’s the problem. They’re almost overly supportive to the point that Geno feels like a disappointment.

His mother always asks him about what he has going on and what’s next and sometimes he has something to tell her but others … the silence stretches and she always tells him it’ll be okay, that something good is just around the corner. She’s been saying that for nearly ten years now and Geno feels like he’s constantly running in circles.

It would almost be easier if they yelled at him or were passive aggressive about it. At least then he’d feel like he had something to prove. He’s not sure how much longer he can put on a brave face for them. How much longer until he has to throw in the towel and they’ll know that all that time spent away from them was for nothing.

He shakes his head and finally tucks himself away and sits up. “Am happy to see them,” he tells Sid. “I miss them lots.”

“I know they miss you, too,” Sid says gently.

“Should come with me,” Geno answers. “Would like to see you, I bet.”

“I actually see them quite a bit. When I teach the unit on Russia I have your dad come in and talk to the kids about life in the Soviet Union. They love it. He doesn’t hold back.”

Geno laughs. “Sounds like him.”

Sid grabs the bacon from the oven and scoops out the reheated eggs onto the plates. He sits then kicks at the chair opposite of him.

“Your food is gonna get cold,” Sid says. “Again.”

Geno hauls himself up and into the chair. “So,” he says before he takes his first bite, “what about us?” Sid blinks at him. “What about us?”

Geno shrugs, aiming for nonchalance as he pokes at his eggs. “Was just one time welcome back thing or maybe we do again?”

“Well,” Sid says slowly, “if you were to find your way back here again — after spending time with your parents, of course — it’s not like I’d turn you away.”

Geno’s eyebrows raise in delight. “No?”

“No,” Sid says. “I mean, who am I to turn down a week’s worth of good sex?”

“Just good?” Geno asks with a grin. Sid rolls his eyes and kicks at Geno’s chair again.

“Shut up and eat your bacon.”

**

Geno shoves his hands into his pockets and follows his mother as she turns down the cereal aisle.

It’s punishment, he thinks, for staying out all night. Passive punishment. He’s an adult, and he can do what he wants, and they all know that, but he sensed an air of annoyance when he walked through their front door that morning.

They were both up and dressed and finished with breakfast but they hadn’t yet left the table. His father had his face buried in a newspaper — he’s the only person Geno knows who reads a physical copy — and his mother had her hands cupped around a mug of tea.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Lost track of time,” he lied. “Thought it was better to stay than come home in the cold and dark.”

His mother had narrowed her eyes and his father shook the paper and turned the page.

Then his mother had shrugged and asked, “Will you come to the grocery store with me?” but it was clear that it wasn’t a question.

He used to love this when he was really little, going into town with his mom. She used to buy him something special, something he usually wasn’t allowed to have, and they’d have lunch together or ice cream.

Now he’s bored, following his mother around, reaching things off the highest shelves and standing around awkwardly as she talks to people who Geno hasn’t seen in a decade. But Geno is determined to be a good son this week and, if this is what his mother wants from him, this is what he’ll do.

It works until they get to the register and Geno spots Sid in the church parking lot across the street, sitting at a table and surrounded by Christmas trees.

He’s talking to a woman holding a baby while a group of teenagers haul the trees out to be tied to the roof of cars.

“He’s such a good boy,” his mother says, “helping those kids out like that.”

Geno looks to her for further explanation but she reaches into her purse and pulls out a twenty instead.

“Take him to lunch,” she says as she presses the bill into Geno’s hand. “I’ll manage here. I’ll get your father to help me unload the bags.”

“But —” Geno starts, but she shakes her head and waves her hand.

“Go. I know where you want to be and I’m not offended. If I were in your shoes I would feel the same. Now go.” She puts her hand on his arm and pushes. “Go.”

**

By the time Geno makes it across the street the woman and her baby are gone and Sid is counting out dollar bills and placing them in a metal lock box.

“You have second job?” Geno asks as he approaches the table. Sid looks up and smiles as he closes the box.

“Kind of. All the money goes to the local youth hockey team,” he explains. “They don’t have much funding allotted to them, so we’re raising money for new jerseys. Some of these kids have been wearing the same ones for years now and they’re all about to hit a growth spurt so …”

“You coach?” Geno asks and Sid nods. That’s what his mother had meant. “You have time for a break?”

Sid shakes his head regretfully. “They’re great kids and I trust them and everything, but I don’t think it’s a great idea to leave a box full of money unsupervised, you know?”

“Can go get you something then,” Geno tells him. “Can go to that new place. Is not too far.”

“I’m surprised you’re not boycotting it because it took Benny’s place.”

“Don’t joke,” Geno warns. “Am still mourning. You want coffee or hot chocolate? Is cold out.”

“It is when you’re not dressed correctly,” Sid says as he nods to Geno’s thin jacket, bare hands and hatless head.

“Is all I have,” Geno defends. He had donated most of his cold-weather gear before he left, so sure he wouldn’t need it in California and so certain he’d have enough money to buy more if the situation ever called for it. “Coffee or hot chocolate?”

“You really don’t have to —”

“Sid,” Geno interrupts. “What do you want?” Sid looks at him for a long moment before he says, “Surprise me.”

**

When he steps up to the counter at The Busy Bean he orders twelve hot chocolates, one for himself, one for Sid and one for each of the hockey players helping out.

The barista’s eyes go wide and she tells him it’ll be a few minutes but he waves off her concern. It’s blissfully warm inside the shop and it’ll give his body time to thaw.

He pays with the money his mother gave him, along with a few other bills he finds crumpled in his wallet and thanks the barista before carefully carrying the stacked trays of hot chocolate across the street and down the block.

“When I said surprise me, this isn’t what I had in mind,” Sid says as Geno sets the trays down on the table, breathing a sigh of relief that he didn’t spill a drop.

“For you,” he says as he twists one cup free of the tray and holds it out to Sid. “For me,” he says as he pulls out another cup and sets it on the table. “And for the kids. Hope I have enough.” He looks over the lot and recounts the number of teens. “If not they can have mine or I’ll go get more.”

“There’s only nine kids here,” Sid tells him as he waves them down and they crowd around the table, looking suspiciously at the cups.

“This is Geno,” Sid explains. “We grew up together. He’s Vlad and Natalia’s son.”

That seems to do it because the kids rush forward and grab a cup, mumbling _thank you’s_ to Geno before splitting off into little groups.

Geno sits down in the empty chair beside Sid and rubs his hands together, fingers nearly numb after being exposed to the cold. Sid rolls his eyes, sets down his cup and pulls off his gloves.

“Here,” he says. “I can’t watch this any longer.”

Geno waves him off and blows into his hands, which makes Sid heave a frustrated sigh. “Your hands will be cold.”

“I’ll be fine. I didn’t spend the last decade in California going soft,” he teases and Geno gives him a look before relenting and pulling on the gloves. They’re warm from the heat of Sid’s hands and he sighs happily. “Better?” Sid asks. Geno nods and settles closer to Sid, trying to leech more heat off of him as their shoulders brush. “How long are you staying?”

“Mama took the car home,” Geno says. “So I’m your ride home?”

“Unless you make me walk,” Geno answers. “Is far. Will probably need hat and scarf,” he says as he eyes the matching set on Sid’s body.

“I guess I could swing by your place.”

“Or you could take me to yours.”

Sid pokes at him. “What happened to spending time with your parents?”

Geno pokes him back. “My mama made me. Saw me watching you through the window at the store.”

“Creepy,” Sid says but he smiles against the rim of the cup when Geno knocks their knees together. “This is good,” Sid tells him after he takes a sip. “But it’s no Benny’s.”

“Maybe you put fish in bathroom,” he says. Sid snorts.

“You heard about that?”

“Taylor told me. Major drama, yeah?” “Obviously, if people are still talking about it,” Sid tells him. “But it wasn’t me.”

“Sounds like something someone who is guilty would say,” Geno says. Sid pushes him hard enough with his shoulder that Geno almost drops his cup.

They do a good business, with a steady stream of people coming to pick out trees well into the afternoon.

“Why people wait so long?” Geno asks in a lull. “Christmas Eve is tomorrow.”

Sid shrugs. “Some people don’t like cleaning up the fallen needles. They wait until the last minute.” He gives Geno a sidelong look. “Do you usually put up a tree?”

Geno shakes his head. He doesn’t decorate for Christmas. Or any holiday, for that matter. He’ll call his parents on Christmas Eve then FaceTime them on Christmas Day so they can watch each other open the gifts that were sent, if they made it on time.

Sometimes he goes out for New Year’s, drinks enough to forget the name of the guy he hooks up with later.

“Not something I want to do alone, you know? Maybe someday, if I find someone …”

“Maybe someday,” Sid repeats quietly and Geno takes another sip of his hot chocolate.

It’s snowing by the time they decide to pack it in and leave for the day. Tiny flakes drift down from grey clouds as Geno helps secure the last tree to the roof of an SUV. He had begun to feel a little useless, sitting around while everyone else worked, so he decided to pitch in and show off a little, winking at Sid before lifting a tree over his head and onto a car by himself. Sid had laughed and shook his head, but Geno didn’t miss the way Sid’s eyes followed him around the lot.

“How much money you make?” Geno asks Sid after the last kid has been picked up by their parents. Sid has the lockbox tucked securely beneath his arm.

“Enough to cover the jerseys. We might even have some left over for pizza after a few of the games. The kids will be happy.”

“Worked hard for it,” Geno says. “They deserve.”

Sid hums in agreement as he unlocks his car and sets the money box on the back seat. “So,” he says as he shuts the door. “What now?”

There are snowflakes sticking to Sid’s shoulders and hanging on his hair and Geno answers his question by stepping into his space, putting both hands on Sid’s hips and kissing him.

**

Geno stretches his arms above his head and rolls his shoulders against the mattress. His muscles feel tight and sore and he’s ninety percent sure he knows the reason.

“Too much heavy lifting?” Sid asks with a smirk as he steps out of the bathroom and moves toward the bed. Geno lowers his arms and reaches for him.

“Am fine,” he lies. “Trees weren’t heavy at all.”

“Sure,” Sid says sarcastically. “Whatever you say.”

“Kids were lifting trees just fine,” Geno snaps. Sid laughs.

“Not by themselves,” he says. “They were working together, as a team, which was kind of the point.”

“You sound like a coach,” Geno grumbles.

“I am,” Sid answers as he pushes at Geno’s shoulder. “Now roll over.”

Geno sighs like it’s some Herculean task to move, but he hums with pleasure when Sid kneels over him and works the heels of his hands into Geno’s shoulders.

Geno sighs again, but softer and happier this time, full of contentment as he folds his arms beneath the pillow and turns his head to the side.

It’s still light out but it won’t be for long. He has to get back to his parent’s house soon. No matter what his mother said this afternoon, he knows he’s pushing his luck by being gone so much.

“Okay if I come back later tonight?” he asks. Sid’s hands still for a moment.

“You’re not sick of me yet?” he asks. Geno grunts as Sid hits a particularly tender spot.

“Never,” Geno says when Sid’s hands move on. “Could never be sick of you.”

Sid’s hands slide away and Geno feels Sid’s lips press against the nape of his neck. Geno starts to roll over and Sid lifts himself up and off only to be dragged right back down again so he’s pressed between Geno’s body and the mattress.

He laughs and curls his hands over the tops of Geno’s shoulders and Geno kisses him until his fingernails dig in.

**

It’s dark by the time Sid drops him off at his parents’ place, but it’s stopped snowing. All that’s left behind is a thin coating that makes the walk up to the front door tricky.

His father is in the kitchen working on dinner but his mother is sitting on the couch so his path up the stairs and to his room is blocked.

She raises her eyes over the top of the book she’s reading and turns the page. “We didn’t expect to see you home tonight.”

It’s embarrassing, knowing his mother knows what he was doing and who he was doing it with.

“I’m home for dinner,” Geno says, “like always.” He stops with his foot on the bottom step. “Might go meet up with him later. Is it okay if I take the car?”

His mother presses her lips into a thin line.

“I’ll walk if I have to,” Geno says.

“I just wish you would be careful with that boy.”

Geno puts his foot back down on the floor. “What does that mean?”

She puts her book down. “It means he’s already watched you leave once, Zhenya, and now he’s going to have to do it again.”

“He’s always known that,” Geno says. “He’s always known I’m leaving. He knew I was leaving the last time. It’s not a surprise. We both know what this is. It’s just fun. We’re just friends.”

Natalia growns and throws her head back. “Zhenya, Zhenya, Zhenya. You have never been just friends with Sidney.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geno snaps, immaturity coming out in full force. “You’ve never known.”

“Don’t speak to your mother in that tone,” Vlad yells from the kitchen and Geno rolls his eyes.

“I’m going upstairs,” Geno tells them as he stomps up the stairs like a child. “Call me when dinner is ready.”

Dinner is a quiet and awkward affair in which no one speaks and the only sounds are forks and knives scraping against their plates.

His mother had no right to try to make him feel guilty about what he and Sid were doing. They were friends, they were always friends, and they always knew that this thing between them would end Christmas night, when Geno flew back to California. It’s not like Geno had been making false promises. He didn’t make any promises. In fact, it was Sid’s decision to hook up in the first place. Geno would have been fine with parting ways with Sid that night at the bar and leaving the past in the past. He thinks. Maybe.

“You’re going to bend the fork,” Vlad says dryly. Geno pulls himself away from his torrent of thoughts and looks down at his hand, where his grip around the utensil is turning his knuckles white.

“Zhenya,” his mother sighs. “I never meant to judge.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I just don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

Geno shakes his head and stands. He grabs his plate, sets it in the kitchen sink, then takes the car keys off the hook and heads out the door.

Sid looks surprised to see him when he opens the door.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you for a while,” he says as Geno steps into his house. “I thought maybe you’d show up in the cover of darkness. Sneak out like when we were kids.”

“I never snuck out,” Geno tells him as he takes off his shoes. “Was always a good boy.”

“Right,” Sid says. “That must have been my other best friend.” He leans in for a kiss then pulls up short with a frown. “You look tired. Do you want some wine?”

“God, yes,” Geno answers. Sid pushes him toward the living room, where he collapses on the couch.

He’s exhausted, right down to his bones, and he doubts he’ll be very good company tonight.

Behind him, he hears a cork slip free of the bottle and glasses clinking together. Then there are footsteps getting closer and Geno holds his hand out for the wine and gets a gift bag instead.

“Can’t drink this,” he says as he peers at the tissue paper sticking out of the top.

“No,” Sid says as he takes a step around the couch so he can sit on the coffee table in front of Geno. He has two glasses of red wine in each hand and he takes a sip of the one in his right. “But you can open it. It’s not much. Don’t get excited.” He takes another drink, a longer one this time.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Geno says and Sid rolls his eyes and kicks at his shin.

“Just shut up and open it, okay?” Geno pulls out the tissue paper and reaches into the bag to find a pair of fleece gloves, a beanie and a scarf.

“I told you it’s not much,” Sid says, ‘but I couldn’t watch you freeze anymore. You can leave them here if they won’t fit in your bag and use them when you come back to visit. Or you can take them with you. I’m sure you’ll need something warm when you go skiing on your fancy actor vacations.”

Geno huffs a laugh. “Don’t go on fancy actor vacations, Sid.”

“Well, for when you do.”

Geno doubts it’ll ever happen but it’s sweet of Sid to think. It’s sweet of Sid to _think of him._

“Thank you,” Geno says quietly as he leans forward and finally claims the kiss that was withheld from him when he walked in. “Very sweet, Sid.”

“You’re welcome,” Sid tells him as he trades the wine glass for the gift and folds himself into the spot next to Geno. “Let’s watch a movie, okay?”

Geno hums and takes a sip of wine as Sid grabs the remote.

They finish off half the bottle of wine and get forty minutes into the movie before Geno starts swaying so far into Sid’s side that Sid calls it.

He shuts off the TV and takes the glass from Geno’s hand and sets it on the table in front of them.

“Upstairs,” Sid says as he tugs on Geno’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Geno doesn’t put up a fight, he just lets himself be pushed up the stairs and down the hall, where Sid hands him a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt to change into.

He climbs beneath the covers and listens to Sid wash his face and brush his teeth in the bathroom. When Sid kisses him goodnight he tastes like mint.

It takes a moment for Sid to get comfortable. When he’s settled down, Geno speaks.

“Didn’t sneak out,” he whispers into the dark. “But I did run away.”

Sid turns onto his side to face him and his hand finds the curve of Geno’s hip beneath the covers.

“You want to talk about it?” Sid asks. Geno shakes his head.

“Tired,” he says and Sid shuffles closer and presses a kiss to Geno’s neck.

“You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Geno buries his nose in Sid’s hair. “I missed you,” he mumbles and Sid laughs.

“You saw me a few hours ago.”

Geno holds him tighter and lets him think that’s all he meant.

**

He leaves Sid’s in the morning, wrapped up in his scarf and hat with the gloves covering his fingers and an invitation for the Malkins to join the Crosbys for Christmas Eve.

“Mama will want to bake a dozen different things,” Geno warns.

“I won’t say no to that,” Sid answers.

The house is quiet when he enters but he meets his mother as she’s coming down the stairs and he’s going up.

She eyes the hat and scarf and gloves. “Where did you find them?”

“Presents from Sid,” he says.

“And what did you get him?”

Geno looks away and his mother sighs.

“Zhenya.”

“I know what to get him, I just have to go get.” He lifts his head. “Do you want to come with me?”

She looks him over before she nods. “Let me make us some tea.”

His mother doesn't say much as Geno walks the aisles and aisles of bright and shiny ornaments and picks out what catches his eye.

“It’s an interesting gift,” she finally says in the car on the way home.

“Do you think he’ll like it?”

“I think he’d like anything from you.”

“Mama —”

“Zhenya, don’t be so dense. He’s always been in love with you.”

“That’s not true.”

“And you’ve always been in love with him.”

“That’s.” He snaps his mouth shut. “That was a long time ago,” he says softly.

“And you can honestly say you don’t feel the same now?”

Geno doesn’t say anything, just focuses on the road ahead of him.

“What if he asked you to stay?”

“He wouldn’t. He won’t.”

“But what if?”

“We were just kids,” Geno says quietly, “and this is just a weekend.”

“I’m sorry to hear you say that, Zhenya.”

It’s the last thing either of them say.

Back at the house Geno brings Sid’s gift up to his room and sets the bag carefully on the bed. Then he starts going through the cardboard boxes in his room and doesn’t stop until he finds the photo albums.

**

As predicted, Natalia bakes a half-dozen desserts and packs them up to bring to the Crosbys for Christmas Eve.

Geno walks up the front path in front of his parents, weighed down by the Tupperware. Thankfully, Sid’s mother opens the door before Geno has to figure out how to knock.

She smiles and immediately pulls Geno into a hug as Geno fumbles with the containers of sweets and Sid’s present, which is hanging precariously from his pinky finger.

“It’s been too long,” she says as she squeezes him. “We’ve missed you around here.”

“Have missed you too, Mrs. Crosby.”

She pulls back and looks up at him. “It’s Trina. I thought we agreed to that years ago.”

“Trina, yes,” Geno says with a nod. It had taken years for Geno to start calling Sid’s parents by their first names, no matter how hard they insisted. “I remember.”

“Of course you do,” she says brightly as she steps to the side and opens the door more fully, welcoming Geno and his parents inside.

“Geno, you can put the food down in the kitchen. You remember where that is, right?”

Geno nods. As a teen, Geno spent the majority of his time in the Crosbys’ kitchen, he and Sid eating any and all snacks they could get their hands on.

Trina turns to take his parents’ coats and Geno heads into the kitchen, where Sid’s father, Taylor and Sid are crowded around the open oven door, staring at the ham inside.

“It has to be done, right?” Troy asks. “I mean, it was cooked when I put it in. I was just reheating it.”

“How do you know it’s warm all the way through?” Sid asks. “You didn’t put it in that long ago.”

“Your mother wanted me to wrap gifts.”

“I know she asked you to do that yesterday.”

“Why don’t you just poke it?” Taylor asks and Sid and his father turn their heads to stare at her.

Geno clears his throat. The weight of the desserts is starting to make his arms cramp.

“Geno, come look at this ham,” Troy says as Sid straightens up and moves to make room on the counter for the containers Geno’s holding.

“Hi,” Sid says as Taylor and Troy bicker in the background. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Of course,” Geno says as Sid lifts the containers from his arms and sets them on the counter. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“No problem,” Sid says. “It’s just like old times, eh?”

There was always something going on at the Crosbys’. Birthdays, huge pasta dinners the night before a hockey game, Fourth of July celebrations even though they were Canadian, not American. The house always seemed to be filled with people and music and laughter, especially when Sid’s family would fly in and they’d have to talk to aunts and uncles and cousins.

When they were young they’d go up to Sid’s room and push the coats off the bed and read or play Go Fish or look at Sid’s hockey cards.

When they got older they’d disappear into Sid’s room and find other ways to occupy their time.

It had been thrilling, kissing Sid while his family carried on downstairs.

“This is for you,” Geno says as he holds the gift bag out to Sid.

The bag crinkles under Sid’s fingers when he takes it. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“Want to,” Geno tells him. “I just hope you like.”

Before Sid can answer Trina enters the kitchen with a plan. “Troy, take the ham out,” she says. “Taylor, Sid, Geno, help me put the side dishes on the table.”

“Mom, Geno is a guest,” Sid says and Trina shakes her head while Taylor rolls her eyes.

“He’s not a guest,” Taylor says. “He’s Geno. He’s probably spent more time in this house than I have.”

“Can help,” Geno says, already reaching for the pan of scalloped potatoes on top of the stove.

“I’ll open this later,” Sid tells him, referring to the gift. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Dinner with Sid’s family is a familiar affair. Geno sat at this very kitchen table with them hundreds of times growing up. Just like back then, Taylor monopolizes most of the conversation, since her college stories are new to both Geno and Geno’s parents.

Geno doesn’t mind letting her talk. She’s funny and clearly loves college life. Geno, who has never experienced it, is happy to listen.

“So, Geno,” Taylor says, “if my friends and I were to head out to California for spring break —” She pauses when Troy grumbles and turns to him. “Isn’t it better that I’m thinking about going to L.A., where someone you know and trust and who I’ve known for my entire life lives instead of us flying off to Cancun or something?”

Troy sighs. “I guess this is the … wiser option.”

“Exactly,” Taylor says before she looks back to Geno. “If we decided to go, would you be able to show us around? I’ve always wanted to hike up to the Hollywood sign.”

Geno secretly thinks the hike is a bit of a tourist trap. It’s always crowded and dusty, but — “Could do that,” Geno tells her. “Just have to know when so I can get time off work.”

“Oh, do you think you could get us onto a film set?” Taylor asks. Geno feels himself go pink. That’s not the kind of work he was talking about.

“Taylor,” Sid warns and Geno feels his flush deepen, “don’t bother him.”

“I’m not bothering him. Geno, am I bothering you?”

Geno looks down at his plate and shakes his head.

“See,” Taylor says. “What’s the point of knowing someone in the business if you don’t get to share in the perks?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Geno says quietly, and there’s a beat of silence before Troy clears his throat.

“You know we’re thinking about putting a pool in when the ground thaws.”

“You’re thinking that,” Trina says. “I’m not involved.”

They bicker light-heartedly back and forth, Trina wondering why in the world they’d put a pool in now that both of the kids are grown and out of the house and Troy telling her it’s a good investment that will pay off if they ever decide to sell the house. Then he asks Vlad for his opinion and that opens the floor to Natalia to voice her concerns about pool upkeep while Taylor keeps insisting she would come back to use it.

Geno looks up, finally, and finds Sid looking back at him, a soft, apologetic smile.

They move to the living room for drinks and dessert. Geno sits on the floor beside Sid — the couch and chairs taken by their parents and Taylor — and sips his tea while he listens to everyone chat.

During a lull in conversation he hears his mother sigh before she says, “It would be nice to have some children around for the holidays.”

Trina and Troy hum in agreement. Sid’s face scrunches.

“I’m your child,” he says and Trina rolls her eyes.

“We mean _children._ Kids. I miss playing Santa.”

“Don’t look at me,” Taylor snorts.

“We weren’t,” Trina tells her as she looks pointedly at both Sid and Geno.

Sid groans and pushes himself to his feet. “I think I need some air,” he says as he looks down at Geno. “You wanna come with me?”

“It’s freezing out there,” Trina says and Sid shrugs.

“It’s not so bad.”

“We’ll dress warm,” Geno assures her as they grab their coats from the front hall. Sid’s already bundled up and ducks into the kitchen while Geno pulls on his gloves and hat. When he returns he’s holding the gift that Geno gave him.

“I didn’t forget about this,” he says as he opens the door and they step out into the night.

They walk together along the sidewalk, shoulders bumping as the bright light of the street lamps and warm glow of the Christmas decorations strung on houses guide their way.

In a town this small, they’re always five minutes from everywhere, so it’s not surprising when Sid nudges him to take a left down the street that leads to their old high school.

They hop the fence that loops around the football field and make their way to the bleachers, climbing the steps until they reach the top. Geno winces when he sits down on the cold metal seat.

“Why you bring me here?” Geno shivers.

“Where else is there to go?” Sid answers as he reaches out and pulls Geno’s hat down over his ears. “Is that better?” he asks. Geno nods and shifts so he’s pressed more firmly against Sid’s body. He remembers sitting like this on cold nights, the rest of his classmates packed around them as they watched the football team get demolished by the competition.

“Does the football team still suck?” Geno asks as he looks out over the field. Sid laughs.

“Yeah,” he says. “Definitely. They had a good season a few years ago but now …” He shakes his head. “The refs actually called a game in the third quarter just to put the kids out of their misery.”

“It’s a school tradition to be bad,” Geno muses and Sid laughs again.

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” He reaches around behind himself and grabs the gift bag and sets it in his lap. “I’m dying to open this.”

“Open,” Geno tells him. “Could’ve opened it back at house. I hope you like.”

Sid slowly reaches into the bag and pulls out the first bundle of tissue paper and unwraps it, unveiling a small glass ornament shaped like a pair of hockey skates.

“There’s more,” Geno says. Sid lays the skates down on the bench and keeps looking through the bag.

He pulls out the World’s Best Teacher bulb next, followed by the yellow dog that looks a lot like Sam.

“She was a good dog,” Sid says softly and Geno nods.

“The best,” he agrees and Sid nods and sets the ornament aside.

The following one lifts the mood, an ornament that looks like a giant sandwich and he laughs before going very quiet when he pulls out the final one, a silver snowflake with a photo in the middle.

They’re young, maybe seven or eight, and their faces are pressed together as they grin at the camera. Both their front teeth are missing. They had lost them at the same time and everyone — their parents and their teachers — had thought it was hilarious. He and Sid had thought it meant something, that they were better friends than anyone else they went to school with or that they were bonded for life. Silly kid stuff for sure, but they had really believed it.

“Found that in one of Mama’s photo albums,” Geno says as he points at the photograph. “You remember?”

“Definitely,” Sid says. “We tried so hard to get those teeth out. Remember how we tied a string around yours and then we tied the other end to Sam’s collar?”

Geno laughs. “Yes, your Mama stopped us before we got Sam to run.”

Sid laughs and then touches the glass with his fingertips. “We were really best friends, weren’t we?”

Geno nods. “Best, best friends. Never met anyone like you, Sid. Don’t know what I would do without you.”

Sid rolls his eyes but Geno shakes his head and bumps their shoulders together.

“Am serious. New kid from different country, rough English … who else wanted to be my friend? Was lucky to find you. Am still lucky to know you.”

Sid’s smiling is achingly soft when he finally looks up. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you stayed?”

Geno takes a deep breath. This seems like a slippery slope, but he can’t help but be anything other than honest. “Sometimes,” he admits. “When I’m lonely or it gets hard. I think what if I stayed here with you? Would we still …”

“Yes,” Sid answers. “We’d still be together. We’d ...” He lifts his hand from the ornament and scrubs it over his face. “By now, don’t you think we’d be married?”

Geno feels numb from more than the cold. He should stop this or laugh it off. This might be a conversation from which they can’t come back.

But he nods instead because, yes, they’d probably be married by now. “Nice house,” he says, continuing the dream. “One or two kids, maybe.”

Sid laughs wetly. “Our parents would be happy.”

“Spoil them like crazy,” Geno answers, smiling despite himself at the thought.

“We’d be happy,” Sid says and Geno nods again.

Of course they would. There wouldn’t be another option.

“I wish I had asked you to stay,” Sid says quietly. “I know you wouldn’t have, but I wish I had at least tried. I just watched you go.”

“Wish I had asked you to come,” Geno says and Sid smiles sadly.

“I wouldn’t have gone with you just like you wouldn’t have stayed. It was never going to work back then.”

Geno nods and looks out over the field, so it’s a surprise when he feels Sid cover his hand with his own.

“Stay this time,” Sid says. “Why don’t you just stay?”

Geno turns his hand over so he can squeeze Sid’s. “Sid, you know I can’t.”

“Why not? What’s so great about being out there?”

“Have a life there, Sid. You want me to give that all up?”

“I want you to be happy,” Sid counters. “You can’t tell me that you’re happy.”

Geno closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m getting by.”

“That’s not good enough,” Sid says. “I wasn’t enough to keep you here back then and I guess I’m still not.”

He starts to pull his hand away but Geno holds tight.

“Sid, please.”

“It’s fine,” Sid says as he stands. His hand slips free of Geno’s grip and quickly wipes his eyes. “Forget I said anything, please.”

Geno scrambles to his feet as Sid takes a step down. “Sidney —”

“I loved you,” Sid tells him and Geno freezes in place. “I really loved you. And I thought that if I let you go, you’d come back to me on your own. Because I thought maybe you loved me, too, and this was just something you had to do and I would wait for you. I waited for you. But then you stopped calling and you never came home and I thought I had gotten over it but …”

“Sidney,” Geno says and Sid holds his hand up and shakes his head.

“I’m over it,” he says. “You have to go. This isn’t your home anymore and I’m not a part of your life anymore.”

“Sidney,” Geno pleads but Sid won’t hear it.

“I have to get back,” he says. “Are you coming?”

Geno shakes his head and Sid nods.

“Fine. I’ll tell them … I’ll tell them something.” He takes another few steps down the bleachers. “Thank you for my gift,” he says. “I hope you have a good Christmas and a safe trip home. Good luck with everything out there. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Geno rushes forward, the metal beneath his feet clangs under his weight.

“I loved you, too,” he blurts out and Sid stops on the steps and turns around. “I loved you. You’re my best friend, of course I loved you.”

“But you’re still leaving.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Geno answers and Sid nods.

“Okay. That’s okay. I get it.”

Sid reaches forward and cups Geno's jaw in one gloved hands, his eyes glistening with moisture. Geno feels like a coward but he closes his eyes against the pain he sees there, feels it mirrored in his chest anyway as Sid brushes his lips against Geno's mouth before pulling back.

"It's OK," Sid says again, his hand falling and he turns and walks away while Geno stands frozen in place, chilled through in a way gloves and a scarf can't prevent.

**

His parents keep a spare key above the light over the garage. He’s tall enough now that he can reach up and grab it without standing on his toes and he lets himself in the back door.

He sets the key down on the counter — he’ll put it back in the morning — and unwinds the scarf from his neck and pulls the hat from his head.

The house is warm, but he’s chilled to the bone from the walk home. He should take a shower and burrow himself deep under the covers of his bed, but he finds he can’t even summon the energy to get himself up the stairs. Instead he kicks off his shoes and collapses onto the couch, punching the throw pillow a few times so it folds more comfortably beneath his head.

It’s not ten minutes later that the shine of headlights falls across the back wall, signaling that his parents have pulled into the drive. Clearly, whatever Sid told them wasn’t all that reassuring if they’re home so soon to check on him.

His mother comes through the door first and Geno covers his face with his hand when she flicks on the light.

“Zhenya,” she says. “Sidney said you weren’t feeling well and decided to go home. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles and there’s a beat of silence before he hears his mother’s footsteps come toward the couch while his father’s trail into the kitchen. Natalia sits on the couch beside him, picking up his feet and placing them in her lap. It sounds like Vlad is going through the motions of making tea.

“Tell me what happened,” she says as she squeezes his ankles.

Geno tucks his chin against his chest and tries to sink farther into the couch. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to admit that he hurt his best friend.

“Zhenya. Whatever it is —”

“He asked me to stay,” Geno admits quietly, “and I told him I couldn’t.”

He hears Natalia take a deep breath before she sighs. “And why can’t you?”

“I can’t stay. What would I do? Where would I live?”

“There’s always room for you here.”

Geno rolls his eyes. “Mama.”

“I’m serious. We’ll clean your room. We’ll move the boxes out. It’ll be just as it was. We could even get you a bigger bed. It wouldn’t be forever. Just until you get on your feet here.”

“What is here? I left for a reason and now to come back … it feels like failure.”

“No,” his mother assures him, “you did a brave thing by leaving. A young kid moving across the country, a country that you weren’t even born in, on your own. You survived out there. You tried your hardest. Nothing about that comes close to being a failure. There’s nothing wrong with reevaluating and changing your dream. And maybe your new dream is in this small town with someone who loves you.”

“He said he loved me. Back then. Not anymore.”

“Zhenya,” Natalia says, “you’d have to be blind not to see that he still loves you. And you love him.”

“How did you know? I never said anything.”

She laughs. “Was it supposed to be a secret? You were glued at the hip. What was I supposed to think when you disappeared upstairs and locked the door?”

Geno’s face goes red and she pats his leg.

“And now,” she continues, “when you’re with him, when you talk about him, when you think of him … you light up. I can feel the change in you. You’re happy. That’s all any parent wants for their child, for them to be happy. And, if you stay here, Zhenya, I don’t see how you could ever be anything but.”

Geno closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

“Sleep on it,” she tells him. “You’ve had a very taxing day today and you’ll have a clearer head in the morning. I know you’ll make the right decision for you and I know that whatever you chose, your father and I will support you.”

“Just like always,” Geno says and Natalia nods as the kettle whistles in the kitchen.

“Tea,” Natalia says, “and then to bed with you.”

Geno drinks two cups of chamomile tea then takes the hottest shower he can stand before he climbs into bed, where he stares up at the ceiling, his mind racing. What could he do here? What kind of life could he lead? What kind of life is he living out in California? Would he miss it all that much? Would anyone miss him? He can count on one hand the number of friends he’s made, if he can even call them that. Acquaintances really. They’d sooner stab him in the back than support him in anything. They’re not like Sid, not even close, but then again, no one ever will be.

He’ll never meet anyone who makes him feel the way that Sid does.

He’ll never meet anyone like Sid.

He throws the sheets off his body and springs out of bed. He doesn’t bother to put on real clothes or pause to put on real shoes. He pulls on his sweatshirt and runs downstairs in his slippers, taking the corner into the kitchen a bit too fast and grabbing onto the doorframe to steady himself.

He finds the car keys on the counter on top of a note that reads “Go get him” in his mother’s elegant handwriting. He smiles as he snatches them and runs.

Sid’s house is dark and quiet when Geno pulls into the driveway and he barely gets the car in park before he’s out and running up the path. He throws his body against the door and pounds on it with his fist. He calls Sid’s name loud enough to wake the neighbors. He knows this is crazy, but he has to see Sid _now_. After ten years, he can’t stand another second apart.

Eventually, he sees a light turn on through the front window and, when he pauses his knocking, he can hear footsteps.

“Sid!” he yells. “Open up! It’s me!” He hears the lock slide and the doorknob turns and then Sid’s standing there, looking soft and sleepy and slightly annoyed.

“Geno,” he starts. “What the hell? Do you know what time it is?”

Geno answers him with a kiss, his hands flying up to frame Sid’s face as he pushes forward with enough force to cause Sid to stumble back.

Geno holds him, his hands slipping from Sid’s face to his shoulders, refusing to let go.

“I love you,” Geno tells him. “I still love you and I don’t ever want to be away from you again.”

Sid raises his hands and wraps his fingers around Geno’s wrists. He blinks up at him, sleepy and dazed. “What are you saying?”

“I want to be with you,” Geno says, “here. I want to stay here with you.”

“Are you being serious?” Sid asks and Geno laughs, a happy, joyful sound even as his eyes water. He nods and kisses Sid again. This time he can feel Sid’s smile against his lips.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do here,” Geno admits. “Is a little bit scary.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Sid says. “We’ll find something that you love.”

Geno fully wraps his arms around Sid and holds him close. “I love you,” he tells Sid.

“I love you, too,” Sid says. “I’ve never stopped. I’ll never stop. We’ll figure it out,” he says again.

Geno nods and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek as he pulls back.

“Might need a place to stay for a while,” he tells Sid.

Sid laughs and pulls him in for another hug, burying his face in the curve of Geno’s neck and holding on tight.

“I think I know a place.”


End file.
